At a small carinderia just a few minutes’ walk from the district hospital, I overheard a tricycle driver explaining to his seatmate, ““Kun indi mo maalagaan ang imo amay, pwede ka kuno prisuhon.” The other man, who appeared to be in his early 30s, laughed uneasily and replied, “Eh paano kun siya mismo ang nagpabaya sa akon sang una?” That quiet midday exchange captures the pulse of many Filipinos reacting to Senate Bill 396—or what Senator Ping Lacson calls the “Parents Welfare Act of 2025.” In a society often praised for its close-knit families, this bill attempts to formalize a value we assume is already in our blood: caring for our elders. But it also reveals a painful crack in that very idea—when caregiving becomes compulsion, and love is threatened with litigation.
Senator Lacson’s measure, as originally worded, sought to penalize children who fail to support their aging, sick, or incapacitated parents. It even included imprisonment of up to six months or fines reaching P100,000 for three months of missed support. In the most extreme cases of abandonment, a child could be jailed for six to ten years. Understandably, this drew a visceral response online and offline—from meme-makers and market vendors alike. The backlash was swift, prompting the senator to clarify and recalibrate. Abuse, abandonment, or neglect by the parent would be exempting circumstances, he later explained. Children too poor to help would also be spared. But the damage had been done. Even with these qualifications, the fear that law would replace love lingered.
Let us put this in proper context. Our Constitution under Article XV, Section 4 affirms that the family has the duty to care for its elderly members, but it also entrusts the state to support them through just social programs. In reality, however, many public programs for the elderly—such as pensions and socialized healthcare—remain inadequate, spotty, or inaccessible. The Social Weather Stations reported in 2023 that nearly 70% of senior citizens rely on their children for financial support, while only 38% receive SSS or GSIS benefits. The crisis, therefore, is not just moral—it is structural. This bill, in attempting to mandate family responsibility, skips over the crucial conversation about state responsibility and intergenerational fairness.
From a personal standpoint, this touches a nerve. As a father of two young professionals and a son to an 81-year-old retired professor, I know the grace and the grit it takes to be sandwiched between caregiving and “care-given” roles. I have chosen—emphasis on “chosen”—to care for my mother out of love, not legal obligation. And I have repeatedly told my daughters not to make me their retirement burden. They are free to pursue their passions, whether in hospitals, labs, offices, or classrooms. If they choose to look after me someday, it should be born of kindness, not compulsion. Anything less is not care—it is captivity.
The core issue is not whether children should care for their parents. Many do, and many will. The question is: should the state step in to punish those who do not? Parenting, by its nature, should be unconditional. It is a lifelong mission of preparing a human being to live independently, to flourish on their terms. To then guilt or sue that human being into a prescribed role feels like moral backpedaling. This is not to romanticize independence or demonize filial piety, but to argue that genuine care must be voluntary, not transactional.
There are countless Filipino stories that echo this dilemma. A call center agent in Iloilo, who lives paycheck to paycheck while supporting two siblings, is now worried that an aging father who abandoned her at age five might one day demand support. A nurse in the US, already remitting half her salary to help raise nieces and nephews, asks: what happens if her estranged mother files a support order? Lacson’s clarification that such cases of abuse or estrangement will be exempted is welcome—but it is not enough. The real issue is not just legal precision. It is cultural and emotional complexity. Filipino families are not always harmonious units. They are messy, layered, nuanced, and often strained by poverty and intergenerational wounds.
The danger of this bill is not in its intent but in its blind spots. It assumes a uniformity in family experience that does not exist. As University of the Philippines professor Anna Cristina Tuazon pointed out in her Daily Inquirer column, the law seems to institutionalize children as fallback plans for state failure. The deeper problem is this: children are already carrying too much. In a recent study by the Philippine Institute for Development Studies (2024), around 42% of middle-income young adults are now part of the “sandwich generation”—supporting both younger siblings and aging parents. They are praised for their “resilience,” but too often, that is code for systemic neglect or ammunition for gaslighting.
There is also the psychological toll of forced obligation. In my work as a administrator, guidance counselor, and educator, I have seen students who drop out or defer dreams because of family demands. They are told that pursuing a career abroad, delaying marriage, or focusing on their mental health is selfish. The term “anak na walang utang na loob (‘a child with no debt of gratitude’ or
‘bata nga wala sang utang nga kabalaslan’)” gets weaponized to enforce guilt. Even success stories carry hidden costs. Olympian Carlos Yulo’s public feud with his mother last year became a cautionary tale about how achievement can become transactional when “utang na loob” overshadows love. When care becomes currency, families lose their soul.
We must also avoid romanticizing the elderly as helpless or blameless. Many seniors deserve support, yes. But not all have been nurturing, present, or responsible. There are those who gambled away their pensions, mistreated their spouses, or emotionally damaged their children. Family law must be built on compassion, but also realism. The idea that all parents are morally entitled to care ignores that some children are still healing from wounds their parents inflicted. Senator Lacson’s update, noting that courts may dismiss petitions in such cases, is crucial. But it highlights the need for a more restorative—not punitive—approach to elder care.
What we truly need is a systemic investment in aging with dignity. Expand PhilHealth coverage for seniors. Ensure that social pensions are universal and livable. Build more accessible public elderly homes, not as dumping grounds but as vibrant communities of care. Create tax incentives for caregiving children, and mental health programs for both caregivers and the aging. Penalizing neglect should be the last resort, not the primary tool. As Jesuit pedagogy reminds us, formation is about accompaniment—not coercion.
It is worth noting that the Family Code of the Philippines already outlines reciprocal support obligations within families. Article 195 covers parents and children, legitimate or not. The problem is not the lack of laws—it is their uneven application and the lack of support infrastructure to make them humane. The proposed Parents Welfare Act seems to duplicate rather than innovate, adding teeth where perhaps a listening ear is needed more.
Culturally, it is time to untangle care from coercion. The deepest expressions of Filipino love come not from force, but from quiet, consistent acts of generosity. The street vendor who buys her mother’s maintenance meds before she eats. The teacher who commutes an hour each weekend to visit her tatay in the province. The OFW who sends balikbayan boxes not because she is forced to, but because she remembers. These stories deserve to be celebrated—not overshadowed by headlines about court hearings and support orders.
In the end, laws cannot manufacture love. They can protect rights, mediate conflict, and provide safety nets—but they cannot compel the human heart. Senator Lacson’s gesture to amend the bill in response to public concern is a mark of good faith. It shows that even our lawmakers are willing to learn and listen. Still, perhaps the bigger challenge lies beyond the Senate floor. It lies in reshaping our family conversations, breaking cycles of guilt, and building systems where care is a community value, not just a household expectation.
It is tempting to legislate morality when society feels broken. But sometimes, the better path is not more rules—it is deeper empathy. Not more punishment, but more support. If we truly care for our elders, we must care first for the systems that fail them. And if we truly love our children, we must free them from being defined by what they owe. They are not our retirement plans. They are our hopes, our legacies, and our partners in shaping a country where aging with dignity is not a privilege, but a promise.
Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.
